Death, Be Not Proud
by particularly good finder
Summary: Tonight, Kurt Hummel would control Death.


At the rosy age of eighteen, Kurt Hummel had met the Reaper three times, an inordinate number for someone so young.

The first was in his childhood, when he witnessed his mother crumple under the screeching metal beast that sped down their street, too fast, hungry. As blood trickled down the road, the skeletal figure swept past, using two bony fingers to close Elizabeth Hummel's eyes before the driver could even stumble out of his car.

The second was in his late youth, when Kurt watched the dark-cloaked man slip from his father's hospital room. As the door clicked behind him, the high-pitched whine of the flat-line rang through Kurt's ears.

The third was not three months ago, on Halloween, when Kurt found himself slammed against an alley wall, forced to watch the masked men take a bat to Blaine Anderson's head. He never heard the police sirens, though, for all he could focus on was the tall shadow of Death kneeling above his boyfriend. When the police asked if Kurt knew who had taken Blaine's life, he only replied, "He has no name."

But tonight, Death would not win. Death had controlled his life for so long, and Kurt would not stand for it any longer. Tonight, Kurt Hummel would control _Death__._

_:-:_

After the death of his father, Kurt was placed in the care of Carole Hudson, his stepmother-to-be before the heart attack. He was grateful for all she had done for him – with her low-paying job, she could hardly support herself and Finn, let alone another son – but it wasn't the same. She wasn't his mother.

Rachel's dads came by frequently, especially after Blaine's death. They pampered Kurt and they fawned over them like they had over their daughter in her youth. They were kind, and their hearts were in the right places, but even the _two_ of them couldn't replace Kurt's father.

And then there was Finn Hudson himself – sweet, loveable, _naïve_ Finn. After the End of the World, as Kurt had taken to calling that cold Halloween night, Finn had tried so hard to make things right. He held Kurt's hand and he brought him warm milk at night and had taken to falling sleep on Kurt's bed on "accident" and had thrown such a hissy fit the next time a jock slushied Kurt that he'd earned himself a reputation as a homo and a serial killer. But he wasn't Blaine – he wasn't gay, or in love with Kurt – and Kurt was growing weary of those three gaping holes in his life.

It was time to make Death his bitch.

If only for a second.

:-:

He had a plan.

Carole was working the late shift tonight, and Finn was at Puck's for the quintessential male bonding night: junk food, video games, and the swapping of new favorite porn sites. Kurt chuckled at the thought of his would-have-been-stepbrother being such a _boy_. He quickly sobered up once he stepped into Finn's room – _their_ room – to place his farewell letter on the bed, though, and fled to the bathroom quickly. Carole's letter was sitting on her bedside table, and the ones to Mercedes, Rachel, Mr. and Mr. Berry, and the rest of New Directions were on the kitchen table. The bathroom door clicked behind him, and suddenly the world seemed so _real_. This was it. He was going to control Death.

Lowering himself to the floor, Kurt grabbed Finn's pocketknife off the counter and, hands trembling, pulled out the sharpest blade. The cool metal hovered over his skin, and, at a tantalizing pace, Kurt dragged it across his wrist, watching with fear and fascination as beads of red came to the surface. He retraced the cut, opening it wider and wider, until blood was trailing freely onto the bathroom floor. He tried to do the same to his other wrist, but he was already losing strength and his bloody fingers slipped on the knife's handle.

A cold sweat broke out on his neck, his cheeks, his brow, and his stomach churned as he bled out on the dirty tile floor. This was surely a horrid way to die, and Kurt was going to experience every moment of it.

As dark spots filled his vision, they came. Blaine was first, his image blurred and jittery, but _there_, with his big doe eyes and his outstretched hand and bloody skull. Kurt smiled at him shakily.

Burt appeared next, as pale as he had been in that lonely hospital bed, but whole and there, in front of his orphaned son. He gave Kurt a sad look, almost disappointed, but there was a small smile on his lips.

And then _she_ was there. Still as radiant as ever, even with her torn-up flesh and broken body, Elizabeth Hummel took her place next to her husband, blue eyes sparkling with love and grief. A tear rolled down her cheek, and for a moment Kurt was afraid he had made the wrong choice.

And then Death was there, and he remembered his plan.

The cloaked figure stood next to Elizabeth, bony arms outstretched. Kurt spit at his feet.

"For eighteen years, you've controlled my life," he said, voice low and full of hatred. "You taken those I love and you've given me no say in the matter. You've dictated everything about my world.

"Well, no more. Tonight, I'm not doing what _you_ want; you're doing what _I_ want. Tonight, you follow _my orders_. You're not stealing my life – I'm making you take it. You don't have a choice."

Death paused, then pulled away, as if to defy Kurt's orders. In a burst of rage, Kurt grabbed Death's robes, nearly pulling him to the ground.

"I'm bleeding out right now. I'll black out in a few minutes; I'll be dead not long after that. You don't have a choice. For once, you don't get to choose. No one can stop me. Not even you."

Death pulled his robes from Kurt's grasp, and with a sweep of his skeletal hand, the three ghosts were gone. They were alone: Kurt, and Death.

The bathroom door swung open, cracking against the wall. "KURT!" Finn shouted, diving to the ground next to his would-have-been-stepbrother, tears in his eyes. Kurt's letter was on the ground in the hallway, torn in half.

"Why would you-? Why? You should have told me-! I tried, Kurt, I did." Finn pulled Kurt close, letting blood seep onto his clothes. "I can try harder. I _want_ to try harder. Please…let me have that chance."

Kurt smiled at Finn, feeling a darkness coming over him. "I am conquering Death, Finn. I'm winning this battle."

"No, when you die, _he_ wins." Finn looked the Reaper straight in the face, body shaking. "You can't have him."

A low rumbling came from the figure's chest. It might have been laughter.

"You can't have him, dammit!" Finn shouted again. "You've taken his boyfriend, and his parents, but you won't have him. You _can't_! I won't let you!"

Kurt coughed, eyes fluttering. "I…I'm beating him, Finn. I'm making…making him take me…whether he wants…to or not…"

His vision dimmed, and the last thing he heard was Finn's screams.

:-:

When Kurt's eyes opened, he thought he had succeeded. Everything was bright and he felt so warm and _content_ – he was surely dead.

And then the beeping of machinery and murmurings of doctors sounded in his ears and he closed his eyes again, fighting back tears. He'd lost. Death had controlled his life once again.

There was a strange, warm pressure on his side, and Kurt vaguely wondered what kind of drugs he was on, and where he could obtain them. This feeling – this warm, _safe_ feeling – was divine.

"Kurt? You're awake?" Kurt turned his head and saw that the glorious warmth was not the drugs, but the body heat of Finn Hudson. Finn was curled against his side, half-lying in the bed, clearly just asleep.

"Yeah…" Kurt murmured, diverting his eyes. Of course. Finn had been there, Finn had stopped him. But even though he was furious and distraught and _crushed_ that he had lost to Death, he couldn't find it in himself to direct any of that towards Finn. He could never hate Finn Hudson.

Finn buried his face into Kurt's chest, arms wrapping tightly around his ribcage. "Don't do that – ever again. I can't lost you, Kurt. I won't let it happen."

Kurt sighed shakily, feeling tears come to his eyes. "I should have died, Finn. I should have _won_."

Finn pulled back, eyes burning with anger. "Don't-! Don't say that! You don't beat Death by _dying_." He paused, breathing in a rattling breath. "You beat Death by _living_, by going on with your life no matter what he does. You're stronger than that, Kurt. I know you are."

Silence hung thickly between them. Kurt licked his lips, then whispered, "I just wanted to see them again."

Finn settled back down against Kurt, and Kurt could feel warm tears soaking into his hospital gown. "I know."

"I just…Death is an asshole. I wanted to control _him_ the way he's controlled _me_ my entire life. Making him take me before my time, seeing my parents again, seeing _Blaine_ again…I felt powerful."

Tears were spilling down his face and sobs wracked through his chest painfully. Finn held on tighter, muttering into Kurt's chest. "I know, I know, I'm so sorry, I know…"

"I just want to be _in control_. It's _my_ life, dammit."

"I know." Suddenly Finn's face was in front of Kurt's, very close and very sad. "It's your _life_. Live it. Fuck Death. Live." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "Live it with me."

Kurt let out another sob, and threw his bandaged arms around Finn's neck. Finn was awkward and too long on top of him, but he was warm and solid and clinging back like his own life depended on it. His planted a kiss firmly on Kurt's forehead, then his nose, then his lips. Kurt pulled back, eyes wide, then connected their lips again, and again, and again.

:-:

Death came back for Kurt when he was a ripe old eighty-three. He stood proudly, quietly, without fuss as the hooded man came for him. Finn gripped his hand, and boldly told the Reaper that they were a package deal, him and Kurt, and Death would have to take them both.

Death didn't have a choice.

So Kurt and Finn followed Death from the room, treating him not as some great evil, but as an enemy conquered.


End file.
